


Night Life, Such As It Is.

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [28]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Night on the town, Period-Typical Racism, Running amuck, date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 17:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17349821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonageArl Eamon has been cured by the Sacred Ashes. He, the Wardens, and their companions have arrived in Denerim. It being her first time in Ferelden's capital city, Sevarra Amell is more than a little curious and wants to go exploring. She and Zevran find some amusement along the way.





	Night Life, Such As It Is.

_**Prompt 1:** A romantic night out on the town in the middle of the chaos (during game events). Just your OC and their LI. Wardens: Denerim. Hawke: Kirkwall. Inquisitors: Val Royeaux. _

 

It had been comical to see the steward’s look of utter surprise once the Arl had marched into the gates, along with a large contingent of soldiers, a pair of Grey Wardens, and the companions of said Grey Wardens. Eamon had not sent word ahead to Denerim that he was coming to his estate in the capital in his haste after finally being cured of the mysterious ailment that had him comatose for so very long.

 

While the poor steward was frankly losing his marbles while ordering servants about to get quarters ready and yelling at the cook to get “ _Something_ warm to eat ready!,” the companions and Wardens had taken the liberty to crawl into quarters and nap in beds for the first time since setting out from Redcliffe. By the time Sevarra awoke, it had gone from mid-morning to perhaps half an hour before sunset, judging from what she could see of the sky from the window. The lack of her favorite “pillow” was the first thing she noticed upon waking.

 

“Ah, your eyes finally open, my dear Warden,” Zevran chirped. He was freshly bathed and had somehow acquired a new set of clothing, which he was in the process of putting on, carefully tying a dark red sash around his waist.

 

“I feared that your little nap would have made you miss supper, but it seemed a shame to wake you when you were sleeping so peacefully,” he continued. “I would take advantage of the bath while the water is still hot.”

 

Still blinking away sleep, the mage was more or less herded to the washroom by her companion. He shot her a wink as he took his leave while she was carefully easing herself into the warm, scented water. Muscle aches she had endured since their trek down the mountains away from that horrid little village called Haven weeks ago finally began unknotting and fading away. She’d been intently focused on getting back to Redcliffe as soon as possible, Alistair’s worry over Eamon making her choose to stay silent about any of her own complaints. A deep breath caught the scent of embrium and lavender. She made a mental note to show her appreciation to the Antivan for the thoughtfully added bath oils later.

 

Finally emerging from the bath and back into their chambers, she was met with a bit of a predicament.

 

“Zevran, I can’t seem to find any of my armor, or my robes, for that matter. Did one of the servants make off with them? I can’t just flounce about in my smallclothes, no matter how tempting the idea is.”

 

“Off to be washed and mended. The Arl’s steward made the offer and I took the liberty. In the meantime, perhaps this shall be an acceptable substitute?” He offered her a neatly folded bundle of clothing that turned out to be a dark red tunic and black breeches. She favored him with a smirk and kiss before scurrying off to get dressed.

 

Dinner mostly consisted of listening to the Arl drone on between mouthfuls of food. It wasn’t stew, that alone made the younger Warden appreciative of the warm food put in front of her by a rather worn-out looking serving maid. After a while, Eamon seemed to have forgotten the mage entirely, only bothering to speak to Alistair. She excused herself after eating her fill and wandered into the courtyard, taking a seat on the edge of the fountain. She sat and watched the people beginning to pack up their stalls in the market outside the estate’s gates and start on their way home or at least to other parts of the city.

 

“It’s Antivan tradition to throw coins in such a well as this. Supposedly it brings one luck.” He claimed a bit of the fountain’s edge to her left and sat.

 

A small smile crossed her lips as she continued to people-watch. “I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

 

He arched a brow. “Surely you jest, my dear Warden. It’s a very old tradition.”

 

“Nope, no jesting here. There were no fountains inside the Circle’s tower, nor on the little island it resides on. This is the first time I’ve seen one in person.”

 

“Perhaps you’ve seen one in your time before being taken to the Circle and merely do not remember?” he asked.

 

She gave a small shrug. “I was taken in by the Circle when I was five years old. I don’t remember a whole lot of what came before that. Just bits and pieces. The only certain thing I can tell you is that I was in a city by the sea. I can still remember the way the air smelled, and how the water looked more green than blue.”

 

She scooted to the edge of her seat and stretched her arms. With a wistful sigh, she spoke. “It’s a damned shame that it’s so late. I would’ve liked to explore this place. I’ve never been to Denerim before.”

 

“The night is young, there is time yet.” With a grin, he rose and offered his hand. “Last I heard, the Arl still had Alistair as a captive audience. Let us have a look around, yes?”

 

She accepted his hand and rose to her feet. A small blush came to her cheeks. “Oh! My staff, I left it in our quarters, perhaps I should...”

 

“Ah, but we are just having a look around. Much easier to do that when you do not stand out. A staff would advertise your magic, no? Do not worry, my dear Warden, I will not let anyone get a clear shot,” he chuckled.

 

Finding no argument with his reasoning, she took his arm and they leisurely strolled out of the gates to see what amusements were to be had early in the evening in the city. They skirted the edges of the market district, avoiding guards. Technically, she was a “wanted criminal” with a bounty on her head. Slowly, but surely, they made a winding path heading for the docks.

 

Their first stop, after finding one particular lane free of guards was at an establishment called “The Toasted Templar.” Later, much later, he would regret bringing a mage to a pub favored by Templars. Truth in advertising, who knew? But it had been exciting, managing to get half of the patrons into a rousing rendition of a song called “Andraste’s Mabari” just before the brawl broke out. A bit of quick thinking on Zevran’s part had one bleary-eyed templar accusing the bartender of being a maleficar while he and his Warden bolted out the back door.

 

In an alley several streets away, she finally stopped and began laughing hysterically. “Oh Maker! Those templars were dullards! Apparently, they only send the smarter ones to Circles? I’m surprised it took them so long to catch on that a mage was in there!” She wiped the tears of laughter from her face and tried to calm herself.

 

He arched a questioning brow. She answered with a shrug.

 

“Come to think of it, those ones didn’t stink nearly as much of lyrium as what I’m used to. Hmm. I wonder why that is? Maybe it’s related?”

He had no clue about what templars needed with lyrium. He offered a smile and a shrug before taking her hand and leading them on a zigzagging journey to another pub. The place was called “The Groggy Griffon” and had a minstrel playing his fiddle by the fire. She got brave and asked the barkeep for something sweet. He slid over a mug filled with an amber colored drink called “cider.” A sip had her grinning and waving down the barkeep for a second mug, which she pressed into the assassin’s hands with an excited, “Try this!”

 

It tasted mostly of apples, with a bite. Not the worst thing he’d ever drank. They nursed their drinks while people-watching until the fiddler struck up a lively tune.

 

“Care to dance, my dear?”

 

She blushed. “I’ve never learned how… The last time I tried, I woke up with bruises on my rump the next morning from all the falling.”

 

He laughed. “Come now, it is not so difficult. I will show you, yes? I will catch you, should you attempt to fall.”

 

She chuckled and gave in, following him to a less crowded part of the floor. While cautious, she was an eager learner. She more or less managed to follow his lead, if less gracefully. Tipsy patrons either clapped in time to the music or began drifting to the floor to dance. As the song ended, eager patrons egged the fiddler on for more, tossing a few coins his way. Another lively song started up, followed by a slower paced one after that. They were contentedly swaying to the languid, rich melody when they were rudely interrupted.

 

“Oy, knife-ear, stick to your own kind!” a stocky human man in rough-spun clothes growled as he laid a meaty paw on Sevarra’s shoulder. He tried to tear her away from the elf.

 

“Let go of me, you filth!” she snarled at the intruder.

 

“The lady does not desire your company. I suggest you keep your hands to yourself and leave us,” Zevran said coldly.

 

“You need to learn your place, sodding knife-ear!” the interloper spat.

 

Before the assassin could draw one of his hidden blades, the belligerent man slipped and fell on his arse. Beneath him, an all-too-convenient patch of ice had come into being. Sevarra favored the man with a glare that could melt metal.

 

“You need to learn to mind your own business, you toad,” she said.

 

They bolted out the back door, leaving behind yet another barroom brawl.

 

The pair had found their way to the roof of a warehouse, watching the reflection of the twin moons on the water’s surface. She had her knees drawn up under her arms, resting her chin on a forearm.

 

“Sorry about the brawl,” she sighed.

 

“You did not cause it. You were not the one laying hands where they were unwelcome, my dear Warden. The fact that the scoundrel had a stool broken over his head was merely the fortuitous arrival of his just deserts.”

 

She laughed, her gloomy aura beginning to evaporate. “I’m sure it’s a lesson he’ll keep in mind, provided he wasn’t too severely concussed. It just seems like I attract danger when I am out and about. It can… well, spoil things.”

 

“I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting, as I have told you,” he smirked. “Nothing has been spoiled for me.”

 

“Lucky me, then,” she leaned in and stole a kiss.

 

The pair did not seem to notice their tail as they wound their way back to the Arl’s estate in the wee hours of the morning. The shadow kept to the darkened corners, just out of sight of his quarry as he followed soundlessly. The facial tattoos had confirmed his suspicions: Zevran was alive and in the company of Grey Wardens. He narrowed his eyes. If that runt of a woman was a Grey Warden, her order obviously did not have high standards. She’d be an easy kill, what was making Zev stay his hand?

 

The pair passed through a gate that closed with a loud clank. The way was brightly lit and Taliesen counted no less than four guards watching. He growled as they vanished into the manor. He could be patient. Zevran and at least one of the Wardens would have to come back out eventually. And when they did, he’d be ready and waiting to “introduce” himself and a few friends.


End file.
